Sephiroth vs the Hair Dryer
by Genesis R
Summary: Sephiroth thought fifteen minutes was enough time to get ready for a meeting. His hair dryer thought otherwise.


Sephiroth vs. the Hair Dryer

*Beep.*

A muffled groan rumbled from the heaped, disarrayed blankets on the bed.

*Beep.*

A louder groan, with undertones of a threat.

*Beep.*Beep.*Beep.*

Okay, now was the time for something to die.

A disheveled silver head poked out of the mess of blankets and blinked in disapproval at the amount of light shining into the room. A hand also emerged, feeling around by itself until it encountered the offending alarm clock and smacked it into silence.

It was so warm and cozy in bed, with the soft morning light and the sound of birds... Wait, there was light?! How late was it?

Sephiroth, teen hero and (almost) single-handed victor of the Wutai War, leapt out of bed as if he had been bitten, and stared at the clock. Now that he was fully awake, he realized with intense annoyance that the alarm must have gone off half a dozen times or more before he had heard it, meaning that he had less than...that would be less than fifteen minutes to get ready and be presentable for the meeting with Lazard.

He could manage that. Seriously, in wartime, he'd never taken more than five minutes, and that was to get completely battle-ready and everything. Of course, it had helped considerably that he slept in uniform. Not so, here in the Tower.

Dressing didn't take that long, though, nor would breakfast; although he hated calling the concentrated rations food, they were filling and nutritious enough to make a meal out of in necessity, and they were easy to eat while hurrying through the halls trying not to be late to a meeting.

Fifteen minutes - that was luxury, time to spare. Running a hand through his hair, messing it up further, he glanced thoughtfully toward the bathroom. He could shower in three minutes flat, and still have time to take his leisure.

After laying out his towel, washcloth, favorite silver comb, and his hair dryer, he turned on the taps, watching through still sleepy eyes as the room quickly filled with steam. He waited until the mirror was thoroughly covered in condensation and the walls were practically dripping before getting in.

He knew his routine, and how to time himself. It took exactly three minutes, although it would take much longer than that for the water heater on this floor to recharge. He would probably hear complaints from Genesis about that later, but if the redhead woke late, he got no hot water. Such was the rule of the Tower.

Even after getting out of the shower, he still had an easy twelve minutes to spare.

Tying his light green towel about his waist, he reached for the comb and stood in front of the foggy mirror, working the tangles out of his dripping shoulder-blade-length hair. Once that was mostly done, he reached for the hair dryer, staring at it in distrust. It had been a gift from Genesis a few months ago, after they had gotten back from the War. The general had let his hair grow long over the course of the campaign - long compared to even Genesis, but still nowhere near as long as he hoped it to be some day - and his friends had noticed that, along with the length increasing, so too did the amount of time he spent getting ready each morning. At first, Sephiroth had been generously offered the use of Genesis' own personal hair dryer, but eventually the other First got tired of sharing and had given the silver general one of his own. Sephiroth had been unable to figure out if Genesis had given him the gift out of genuine good-will or out of jest. With the redhead, there was sometimes little difference.

He thoroughly looked over the appliance in his hand. He knew how Genesis' worked - well, sort of how it worked, seeing as the redhead always had it set and ready-to-go whenever Sephiroth came over. Could this one be so different? Smirking to himself, he clicked it on. Ten minutes. Why, he might even have time to get a real breakfast at this rate!

It didn't move. No whirring, no humming, no heat, nothing. Sephiroth scowled at it, giving it a shake to let it know that it was presently in the service of the Silver General and should not sleep on the job. Still nothing.

He considered hitting it against something, but decided against it. He'd broken enough unruly appliances that way that Angeal had finally made him promise not to strike anything inanimate ever again, unless it was either an enemy or threatening his life. He was sure Angeal would not agree that a hair dryer was life-threatening. Besides, Genesis would almost surely take it the wrong way if his gift was destroyed without even being used once.

Sephiroth looked around for other ideas when his eyes fell upon the end of the dryer's cord lying innocently on the countertop next to his comb. Of course! For working for the world's energy provider, living in their capitol Tower, he had forgotten the most basic concept. Laughing at himself in a deep chuckle, he picked up the plug and pushed it into the wall outlet.

There was a flash of blue lights accompanied by a shower of snapping sparks and a loud outcry from the general. He jerked back six feet, his hair crackling and standing out in all directions like a behemoth on a bad hair day, his wet fingers in his mouth, and the hair dryer sailing toward the far wall, trailing its cord behind it like a comet's tail.

Luckily the far wall wasn't actually all that far and the dryer fell to the ground not five feet from where it was still plugged in. Sephiroth death-stared it; the appliance seemed unfazed. He was considering what he could do to punish it that would not take too much of his time, but finally decided against destroying it. Genesis would destroy _him_ if that happened.

With an exaggeratedly resigned sigh, he consoled himself with the fact that now the dryer was at least plugged in, and had no reason to give him further trouble. He wiped his hands dry on the towel, picked up the slightly battered dryer, and rested it carefully on the countertop.

Now for the moment of truth. His hair was dripping wet down his back and he was wasting precious minutes that could be better spent hunting down a breakfast other than food bars. He lifted the appliance gently in one hand, took great pains to ensure that it was pointing away from him and that there was no way his hair could possibly get sucked into it (that had happened once at Genesis' apartment, a memory he would prefer be buried), and clicked the ON button up a notch, with a half-triumphant smile on his face.

There was a faint whirring, whining sound, followed by some sputterings, followed by a low groan, followed by silence. Sephiroth stood unmoving, the smirk slowly fading from his face. The hand holding the dryer moved down ever so slightly, muscles almost creaking as he resisted the urge to squeeze the handle as hard as he could. His thumb twitched.

Click.

Click-click.

It was up to the highest setting before the motor showed any signs of life, and then it was only to produce a few last spitting sounds before stalling out completely.

Sephiroth had long wondered why people said they sometimes had the urge to slam their head into a wall. Now he was merely wondering whether it would knock him out fast enough for the pain to be worth it.

Looking around for something to stick into the dryer in case the motor was jammed, he couldn't find anything the right shape and size, and he was _not_ sacrificing his silver comb to the task. Fingers would have to suffice. Biting his lip - and hoping that nothing would bite _him_ - he poked around gingerly down the barrel of the hair dryer. There, that was the motor, with the fan blades. And yes, they were stuck. There was a small clump of lint wedging the blade to the inside wall.

It took only a moment to work it free, and just as he began to grin once again, feeling superior, the motor caught. Roaring into life at full power, the dryer bit down quite hard on his fingers.

This time the appliance ended up rocketing toward the bathtub. At the last possible instant, the general realized that the tub was still wet and the dryer was still plugged in. Only his enhanced speed saved him from another lightning storm as he leapt for the dryer and caught it just above the water.

He caught it only to throw it again, this time at the middle of the floor. There was a fluffy pale green rug there, though, so it bounced once and lay relatively unharmed. He stood over it, and despite being clad only in a towel, managed a look that would make even Thirds melt into the floor. His left hand twitched as he thought of Masamune's comforting presence that would make everything all right, but the summoning was interrupted by a sharp knock on the outer door of his quarters.

"Sephiroth?" a muffled voice called. "Are you all right?"

"Why do you ask?" the general shouted back, realizing too late that his own tone gave away the fact that everything was far from all right. Especially since he recognized the voice as that of Angeal, which meant that Genesis couldn't be far behind. It was too early for this!

"May I come in?" Angeal called again, and Sephiroth clearly heard the quiet sound of the apartment door being opened. And sure enough, there were two sets of entering footsteps, one sounding distinctly higher-heeled than the other. Oh, Gaia, what had he done to deserve this?

The footsteps approached the bathroom door and stood outside.

"I said I'm _fine_," the silver general reiterated, although he knew Angeal wouldn't be convinced. He could hear a heavy sigh from the other side of the door.

"Okay. But what was all the yelling and banging about?"

Sephiroth hated that he shared a wall with the other First. Enhanced hearing could be a curse sometimes.

"I...slipped." He cringed as he said that, knowing how Angeal's Honor would be horrified at the white lie.

Genesis snorted. "Firsts _can't_ slip." There was a pause. Then, in a passable imitation of Angeal's voice, he asked "May I come in?"

"NO!" Sephiroth shouted, lunging for the doorknob to lock it, as he was sure the redhead would try to open it, just to rattle him. As it would happen, the hair dryer's cord was twisted about his ankle and he _did_ fall, toward the marble countertop, catching himself on the doorknob just in time.

Poor Sephiroth; this was a bad day for him, as his weight on the knob caused it to turn, letting the door swing open and making him land unceremoniously on the fuzzy green rug. Angeal and Genesis, paralyzed, stood in front of the open door, staring down in shock and, on the part of one of them, amusement.

Sure enough, Angeal looked thoroughly scandalized to see the Wutai War hero, teen general, idol of Shinra, clad in a pale green towel around his middle, his hair frizzed and standing up on end as much as it could, lying prone at his feet. Looking up, Sephiroth could almost see the First's Honor rising to the surface as Angeal deliberately turned away and left the entire apartment without another word. Genesis, left standing by the doorframe, sniggered, although he had the grace to try to make it seem like the noise was coming from Angeal. No one believed him.

However, on seeing the shade of red Sephiroth's face was turning, and being unable to ascertain whether it was from embarrassment or rage, Genesis decided to play it safe and hurriedly exited the apartment, only to have rolling-on-the-floor convulsions in the hallway right outside.

Sephiroth stood up, holding the towel around his waist with one hand while shutting the door with the other, using a little more force than necessary to twist the lock. He would not break loose. No matter how much he might enjoy seeing half the Tower go up in flames right now, he would not do it - his Hell Firaga was in the bedroom, anyway. How did this entire disaster happen? He was a general. Things like this never happened! Or if they did, no one ever heard about them. However, his hopes of secrecy had left with Genesis.

His hair was still wet. He had three minutes left. He could do this.

Taking a deep breath, he checked once more to make sure the door was locked, straightened the towel, and looked down at the hair dryer resting so innocently on the floor. He bent to pick it up, then suddenly stopped and _very_ thoroughly dried his hands first. Satisfied that there was no remaining moisture on them, he felt it was safe to pick up the appliance with dramatic care, slowness, and calm. It neither bit nor shocked him, and he would have smirked again at his now-meek opponent but the ignominy of the situation had taken a toll on his sense of humor.

Before moving it any further, he also made completely sure that the cord was not about his legs, arms, head, or anything else it could possibly be around.

Now he did smirk, just slightly. Raising it a bit more, keeping it pointed away from himself for the time being, he clicked the switch to the first ON position.

Nothing happened.

Amidst the door fiasco, the plug had gotten ripped from the wall, leaving him in the same position he had been when this had all started, only now his fingers hurt, his wet hair was cold, and he had thirty seconds to get to Lazard's meeting.

In a futile attempt to preserve what was left of his temper, Sephiroth stood in the middle of his bathroom, closed his eyes, and began to - very slowly - count to one hundred thousand.

* * *

Sephiroth did make it to the meeting - fashionably late.

And his hair _was_ dried. Air dried.

* * *

The next day, an ad appeared on eBay: "Slightly battered hair dryer. Never used. Free."


End file.
